Sleep Fishing

It's the oldest battle fought,
taking place in film history.
Rest is haunting my every thought
and sleep won't cease its whispering.

What I need is an energy shot
mixed with some nitro-glycerin.
Sleep's whispers have me caught
and my eyelid paralysis is at the whim of the fisherman.

Boredom; A Fragment of Time

As I watch a drop of condensation

Roll over the "u" in "Nutritional Facts"

Ms. Freeman's room harbors conversation

that stays formally relaxed.

My Nike high-tops rest

upon the inanimicity of the wooden desk,

the same tangibility upon which I test.

I try not to laugh at the subliminal jest.

Just formulate a mental LOL,

then let out a sigh. Oh well.

A long-hand ticks, another spent second

another deceased moment my conscience has been beckoned.

Beckoned to establish absence. To establish vacancy.

Is it obvious? Do I exude boredom so blatantly?